


Paint It Red

by KiwiBaer



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Animated Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bruce tries to be a good dad, Dick is very smol, Familial bonding, Family Fluff, Fluff, Gen, Nail Polish, Selina Kyle is a pillar of feminine strength
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-17
Updated: 2017-05-17
Packaged: 2018-11-01 22:19:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10931169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiwiBaer/pseuds/KiwiBaer
Summary: A small nail polish bottle nestled into his palm, looking very much nicer than the one he had witnessed at the convenience store a few days ago, the cherry red which tinted his thoughts. The material of this container was smoother, sturdier and had intricate designs etched into it, all promising a much higher echelon of paint.---After a brief encounter with Ms. Kyle, a young Richard Grayson develops intrigue for a certain beauty product. Bruce decides to do something nice for his charge and is punished(?) for it.





	Paint It Red

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'ed by the gorgeous, illustrious, and forever revered Gwenabo <3
> 
> So, for a bit of context I was a little all over the map when it came to timelines/universes. This is technically based in Batman: The Animated Series, but Dick's a really young Robin. Like, I dunno, between ten and twelve maybe? Also, I don't really like Selina's character model for B:TAS so I changed her appearance to fit the more common design (think like, Hush but without her whole weirdness there). I don't know a whole lot about Mary Grayson so I bullshitted this beginning part a lot.
> 
> Anyway, this was a self-indulgent little (12 page) thing with Bruceman painting Dick's nails. Enjoy!

Selina Kyle was _almost_ as pretty as Dick’s mother had been. She had the same jet colored hair, though her tresses were much shorter. In fact, Dick’s hair was almost longer than her’s, his bangs untrimmed and reaching down for his eyes, nearly surpassing her feminine pixie. He released one hand from the couch, where it was steadying him in his perch on the back, brushing the inky curtain away so he could continue to watch the house guest. Her eyes were wrong as well, a green once again more resembling himself, containing the same barely restrained gleam of mischief. He got his eyes from his grandfather, or so he’d been told. Mary Grayson has those perfect russet irises that shone when she smiled, which she had done on a much greater frequency than Selina seemed to. Yet, the greatest difference was in the face itself, where Selina was sharp lines and smokey femininity, his mother had been soft yet solid, like clay.

And Dick’s mother had _never_ worn her nails that long.

The young boy was very much transfixed on those nails, watched them dance against the velvet armrest, beating her impatience into the plush. They were waiting for Bruce. In this lifetime, Selina was a woman of society, one Bruce seemed to chase after desperately, which she allowed... occasionally. She didn’t appreciate having to wait for him and showed it with the curve of her lips and the way she held her body, tense and jittery. But Dick wasn’t looking at her pout, instead he tracked the movement of those nails. Transfixed.

They were a deep maroon, as if she had dipped her fingers into a glass of wine, the polish appearing almost liquid with the way it flashed and how she manipulated them. They were long, extended past fingertips and tapered to a blunt point. There was an occasional clink as her nails collided with the wooden accent on the front of the armrest, which was the only noise so far to occur between them. Dick blinked at the noise each time it sounded. He tilted his head, trying to see if her other hand was colored the same way.

The woman shifted then and Dick glanced up to see her steady gaze on him. He flushed lightly at her attention, shoving his hands between his knees and offering up a sheepish smile once he realized he’d been caught. To his vague astonishment, her mouth quirked up, the smile actually returned. There wasn’t many people she tolerated, barely seemed to appreciate Bruce’s company when they were together, but the young boy had yet to be horribly tainted by the issues of men, was still sweet. And he was just as firm of an advocate to the preservation of animals as she was.

She held out her hand then, wrist arched and fingertips pointed towards the floor, perfectly showing off the professional decoration. Her smile grew as she watched admiration wash over his face, an expression she rather liked on a man. “Pretty, aren’t they? I adore this shade, it looks so nice against my skin.”

Dick nodded eagerly, the young boy reaching out to gently take her hand, pausing just before touching her to get permission and then angling the appendage towards himself. Able to properly inspect now, he marveled at the gloss of it. Ogled at the way the chandelier’s light skipped across the surface. “How did you get it to be so shiny?” He practically expected the polish to cascade down onto his palm, pure liquid. It stayed put however holding up to any way he twisted her hand while she patiently watched him.

“Oh, it’s just gel, kid.” She released a reserved laugh as he finally relented her hand back to her. He reached for his knees instead.

Bruce’s ward bounced his legs, a new level of energy in him. He was grinning wide enough to stretch his cheeks, but still attempting to reserve some of his excitement in the face of the near stranger. He most certainly was not at Bruce’s level in terms of his poker face, the billionaire’s mask was inscrutable and that was _without_ wearing the cowl.

Dick was nothing but childish glee. “It looks really, _really_ nice.”

The guest canted her head and thanked him. They fell into silence, one that was comfortable and burgundy colored. Selina resumed her steady beat, but there was a contented curve to her lips that hadn’t been there previously. Her head tilted away, china blue eyes tracking against the paintings on the walls. And Dick Grayson had to agree with himself. Selina Kyle was _almost_ as pretty as his mom.

It was a few minutes later when Bruce was finally able to join them. He apologized for his extended absence and then greeted the boy. His brow raised and his lips quirked as he felt the casual air, amused by the amiability that had developed in his absence. “Were the two of you behaving?” He asked, a playful tone in his voice which could only ever be heard when he was not dressed in a cape and cowl. Selina was a person who primarily brought out this part of Bruce Wayne, Dick being one as well.

Dick may have been young, but he did not for a second believe Bruce’s affection for the two of them brought out his “true self” in this way. Bruce Wayne could never show this man’s true self, that was refrained for the rooftops at night, when a spotlight collided with the clouds and showed jagged shapes. No, Bruce’s affection just led him to put more effort into pretending, behaving like he could be a man without the bat.

When Selina rose to her feet, her heels clacked against the hard floor and it was a sound of power. Confidence. She strode forward and played the cherry wood to her tune of pride. She placed a hand on his shoulder, those nails a stain against his suit.

Bruce’s smile wavered at her touch, the way she caught onto him, the way he could feel her gentle press down into his marrow, even the Knight couldn’t hide his emotions. Dick was too naive in this case to recognize it, but Selina spelled nothing but temptation to the billionaire.

“ _Never_.” She purred to Bruce and then he was gently wrapping his fingers, one by one, around her wrist as if he had to focus on manually completing each action. He used her limb to push her back a step so he could breathe. Her lips formed into yet another pout, but he didn’t remove her completely as she was still very much welcome within his space. She momentarily burned with the desire to prove she couldn’t be pushed into where he wanted her, to prove she was allowed to be wherever she wanted to be-- but in this instance, she allowed it to pass. “Dick and I were just talking about nails.”

Bruce raised a brow again, curious. “Really?” Then, he glanced Dick’s way and met with a sheepish smile, prompting him to release an amused noise. “Well, I’m glad you two are bonding.” His words awarded him a soft scoff from the lady, as if she found insult in the idea of bonding with anyone. He resisted a smile and held out his arm to her. “Shall we, Ms. Kyle?”

She carefully latched onto him with a roll of her eyes, arms dwarfed beside his wide frame and muscles. She leaned in, so slight when compared to him it brought emphasis on the beauties of either of their bodies. Playing the foil of each other, they were a gorgeous couple.

“Goodbye, Dick.” Bruce and Selina bid their adieus, knowing the child would be perfectly safe in Alfred’s care.

Bruce returned hours later, alone and a bit looser from the wine at dinner, his jacket draped carefully over his arms. Dick was tucked away in bed by the usual insistence of the butler. In fact, Alfred always seemed to get stricter about his sleep schedule when Bruce wasn’t there to say “let the boy stay another half hour” and then help him burn off some of his boundless energy by carrying him wiggling and squirming in a fit of giggles to his bed. No, Alfred just led him to bed and shut the door firmly to punctuate his admittedly warmer goodnight. Alfred wasn’t overly gruff with him, he just didn’t have the energy to play out the fights he and Bruce did.

Still, Alfred had not yet thought to take his Gameboy away before bed, a fact Dick concealed along with his body beneath two layers of blankets. He shifted beneath his cocoon, the inner walls of his nest and his face the only objects illuminated by the screen in his dark room. Two bare feet stuck out of the blankets, keeping cool away from the stifling heat that gathered from his own breath. He bit the inside of his cheek occasionally, fighting against each cry of frustration that swelled as his pixelated character couldn’t keep up with his brain’s rapid commands. Alfred may have been grey, but he had ears like a bat. A system of coevolution was established between the two to combat this, Dick keeping his own senses sharp which was what allowed him to hear when Bruce returned home.

It was a surprise and Dick nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard the almost clumsy steps pass right by his door. He slapped the game shut in a panic --flinching when it made an obvious sound-- and lifted his head up so the blankets slid down to rest against the nape of his neck. He knew it couldn’t have been Alfred, had the smooth glide of the butler’s gait memorized, yet it still took him seven hard heartbeats to realize it had to be Bruce returning home.

The boy dropped his cheek down to his pillow, watching the shadow pass by his door. He was usually never able to hear Bruce’s steps.

He figured with Bruce home and midnight looming like a punishment, it was time to put the game away and properly get some sleep. So he spread his nest out and landed on his stomach, one little foot kept free from the heat while nuzzling into his pillows. Resting haphazardly before the plummet of his sleep in the moments where his conscious brain ran with the loosest control and explored fascinations from his day, he had a flash of Ms. Kyle’s nails again. He replayed the way they had glinted and shone with small exaggeration, wondered what a brighter red might look like, if it might shine in the same way.

 

Bruce’s hands tapped rhythmically against the steering wheel while he stared down the red light that kept them in place at the edge of the crosswalk. A recently popular self-empowerment song was whispering through the speakers and it seemed even the Dark Knight was susceptible to a happy beat, unconsciously following it with his impatient movements. Dick grinned wide at the little show of humanity, relaxing into the fine seats of the car. His feet bounced to the tempo of Bruce’s fingers from where he had them kicked up on the dash, a small pile of dust and dirt accumulated underfoot due to his preference of this position. Dick loved it when Bruce had time to pick him up after school, because they could have good moments like this, listening to a pretty voice telling them to be whoever they wanted to be. Dick wasn’t sure “be a team of animal themed vigilantes fighting the scum of Gotham City” was exactly what she had in mind, but who was he to assume?

Alfred was a friendly enough companion for car rides as well, but too much classical music made Dick want to die.

The light switched to green and their luxury car purred into action once again. Bruce glanced toward his precious cargo who was now peering intently out the window, those wide blue eyes tracking their progress through the city. He needed to pay attention, to ensure Bruce wouldn’t forget about their arrangement all of a sudden and miss the most important stop.

“Sorry about this, Dick. I know you don’t like sitting through these meetings, but Alfred had errands today.” Bruce always said the same thing. It had lost its meaning a long time ago, falling into tradition instead. It was alright, it was just another ritualistic aspect to their rare after school outings.

Dick chirped his own line back, “It’s alright, B! Just as long as you keep up your end of the deal!”

Bruce didn’t even bother to hold back his chuckle, forever and unashamedly amused by this boy who only seemed to think with his stomach or his adrenal glands. The man couldn’t think of a time where he himself had been ruled so entirely by his Id, other than simply to keep up his rich playboy facade. He sometimes found himself wondering what it might be like without a Super Ego so righteous and potent. Thoughts like these only really came up when Dick’s smile was brightest or when the aches developed in layers.

They pulled into the little convenience store under Dick’s watchful gaze, glad to find its minor fame did not overwhelm it during working hours. Only a few cars were around and Bruce parked close to the door. A few heads turned towards the sleek blue car, but they hadn’t attracted too much attention beyond that. It was the time of day to be lazy. Gotham city was more asleep than it ever could be during the night once the heat hit its peak in the afternoon; nothing exciting ever really happened in the daytime.

Bruce turned to his charge, who was resisting every urge in him to bounce in his seat, both hands waiting at the door handle for the go-ahead. He wasn’t nine anymore, eyes filled with stars at the sight of a single candy bar, he could wait a few seconds. “Alright,” Bruce told him, hand on the back of Dick’s seat, the other holding up two fingers. “Two things.”

The boy couldn’t open the door fast enough, sunshine at his lips. He was jogging into the market at a controlled speed while Bruce was still pulling himself from the car, shedding the business suit and tie for a bit of inconspicuousness. The bell by the door chimed loudly when it opened and again when it slung close (an annoying feature), demanding he keep up with his charge. Not that Bruce could ever fully keep up with his dependent. The circus boiled in his veins even after these years, setting him at a higher frequency than Bruce could even hope to reach. When the billionaire stepped into the subdued store, he caught sight of Dick zipping down one of the aisles, hunting out what two things he wanted to purchase. Junkfood was a rare and revered commodity at Wayne Manor, so it was no surprise when he was seen running his hands over all the different candy boxes, a bag of potato chips crinkling loudly beneath his fingertips as he continued down the row.

Bruce might have lost interest in this well practiced behavior, opting for the entertainment of his ticking watch, but then Dick was circling down a different aisle where he was out of sight and his footsteps came to a stop. Curious, grey eyes lifted up to the rounded mirror at the back of the store, catching sight of his boy again.

Dick stared intently at the display in front of him, taking in all the colors while sucking on the inside of his cheek. He had of course seen more impressive ones in the past. When he was taken to those expensive stores where his jackets were bought, where the female oriented section took up the whole front half of the store and was overwhelming with glamour and smells. Those ones took up multiple displays, with rows for each shade, some so bright they reflected in his eyes. Here, it was only two layers with base tones and a few different greys, nothing close to making his irises shine. Still, he stalled in front of them, staring at the almost empty column of red. His finger ghosted across the label, feeling each groove of the word “cherry” seep into his fingertips.

In a second, Dick was back in the Manor’s sitting room, waiting with Selina Kyle before her date. She had wine on her nails and Dick couldn’t get the image out of his head. How incredible it looked and sure this was a much brighter shade and sure it wasn’t a “gel” (at least he didn’t think so, he wasn’t sure exactly sure what a gel was), but he was caught up in imagining just how exactly this would look.

 _Two things_. For a second, he considered it. Thin fingers wrapped around the neck of the bottle and he cocked his head, but then he was releasing it with his next breath. His cheeks grew a bit hot as he thought about what Bruce might think.

He turned from the cherry and all other cheap nail polishes and fetched a carbonated soda along with a relatively hefty bag of sour gummy worms. The kind that made your mouth bleed if you ate too many at once, which was how he knew it was the good stuff.

Dick returned to Bruce’s side, holding up his treasures as he tried to get the cherry red to clear from his vision, grinning wide. Bruce, in turn, masked himself in that easy way of his, hiding the fact that he had witnessed every step of Dick’s inner debate. Hid the way he had been surprised when the boy passed the opportunity by, wondering what might have stopped him. Whether he should say something now. Tell him it was okay; two things meant two things.

But the embarrassment tinging Dick’s cheeks and his own emotional ineptitude held Bruce back. They walked to the front counter together, Dick explaining earnestly that you can’t always trust any sour gummy, sometimes they could be truly awful. Bruce’s lips curled as he held onto the boy’s shoulder.

 

Selina gasped at the stunning silver clutch, her hand resting against the swell of her chest as she took in the elegance of it. Adoration filled her eyes, the kind reserved for pretty things and being chased over rooftops by a big bad bat. The way it glittered just stole her breath away from her and she had that familiar _desire_ deep inside for something she desperately wanted but had no _need_ for. She reached her free hand out behind her in search for her companion, wanting to sink her fingers into his huge bicep and make him look at the beauty see was faced with. Take a bit of the edge off from her desperation to sneak it out like she knew she could _easily_. Maybe if he saw how much she loved it, he would buy it for her before she even said a thing. She did so enjoy being able to wordlessly influence her date.

Unfortunately, her searching swipes met with empty air and she jolted.

Turning sharply, she found Bruce simply _missing_ and sucked at her tongue in irritation. It was a hard habit to get over when she was usually the center of his attention at all times. She found him after sweeping the surrounding area with jade eyes twice, making her way over to him while rehearsing in her mind all the ways she’d scold him for neglecting her.

Bruce stood solemnly in front of a grand display case of hundreds of tiny bottles, his usual easy smile wiped away with the seriousness he put into his inspection. It was organized by shade, shelves containing the same color with small variances from one bottle to the next. The section he was in front of specifically held a red theme amongst its ranks. Nail polish was an adored accessory by many, especially by those willing to pay the astronomical prices Bruce was reading (not that they even caused him to blink). His eyes scanned each one, calculating the differences.

Two hands slid onto one of his broad shoulders, one resting above the other as a padding for her chin when she balanced it on top. The heels allowed her to reach this height, taking in the display over the obstruction of his body and smirking besides her fingers. "Come on now, Bruce. You should know: red really isn't your color." Then, in case he was in the process of planning a gift for her, she added for her own benefit, "And I prefer darker shades."

Bruce's fingertips had been skimming the labels of a few of the brighter looking scarlets and he let his hand drop back to his own side. He turned partially to face his abandoned date, studying her levelly for a moment, Selina finding her pulse quickening at the intensity of the look. Then, he was offering up another perfect Bruce Wayne smile. She hadn't quite recovered yet though, couldn't shake the feeling that that look had been _awfully_ attractive in a familiar sort of way.

"It's not for either of us, actually." He corrected her, resting a large hand on her hip. "It's for Dick."

At first, it surprised her enough to let out a soft laugh into the back of her hands. When she had time to think about it, however, it did make sense. She smiled and released one hand his shoulder, dragging painted fingers through the hair at the base of his neck slowly. With the fascination Dick had showed for her manicure the previous day, it didn't seem like much of a stretch at all that he might have sparked some interest from the encounter. His eyes had held the same stars in them she could remember a decade or so ago when she was first exposed to the glittering jewels a bit of wealth (or stealth) could bring.

"How sweet." She said, shoulders shaking with another small laugh. Bruce Wayne really had adopted a cute kid; his curiosity was refreshing.

She lifted herself from him, but kept a hand on his shoulder while she reached out and tapped a bottle delicately with her long fingernails. Inside was a rather subtle salmon color, one that wouldn’t stand out too much, but could definitely be admired upon one’s nails. She thought it would look very nice with Dick’s skin, though a blue would go better with his eyes. Maybe a green-- _cold_ colors.

Bruce still had a lot to learn about proper color palettes. She was trying to train him however, through vague quizzing while they prepared for their dates, asking his opinion and tutting when he got it wrong. And yet when he saw her suggestion, he was shaking his head. She raised a brow.

“No.” The man said, taking one from the shelf and holding it up to the light. It was outlandishly vibrant, a reddish orange reminding her of loud sunsets and bad lipstick. She gave him that look she was good at, saying something close to ‘men really don’t understand anything’. “This one seems fine.”

 

The clock was switching numbers at an impossibly fast rate while Dick was running late for practice, sprinting through the hallways to try to reach his room. He held onto hope that he could throw on his exercise clothes and run down to the basement before his tardiness could be detected by the detective. It would be a struggle, but he still believed he could fly in at the last minute and bring on a distraction with that flashing smile of his. Just how the circus had taught him.

Inside his room just seconds later, he was a poorly contained typhoon in his own space. He yanked at his sweatpants, trying to get them up his legs while still stumbling around the messy floor in search for a sleeveless shirt that didn't smell too fusty. As was an unavoidable turn of fate, his foot caught on the elastic hem of a pant leg while his focus was elsewhere and he was canting forward without a hope to regain balance. His hip collided with force against his desk while he bit back the kind of curses a kid learned at a circus and a loud **clank** rang out. The noise made him pause even while his eyes watered, because it definitely hadn't come from the impact off his body, instead sounding like something crystalline hitting the hard floor.

His hand ached from where he'd slammed it onto his desk to steady himself. Gently, he rubbed at a possibly bruised palm while his eyes studied the floor in search for what may have fallen. Deadline now forgotten. The object was easy to detect instantaneously due to its brightness but its presence only added more questions as Dick hummed out a curious noise. He picked it up from the ground and held it up so it caught the radiance of his ceiling light. A small nail polish bottle nestled into his palm, looking very much nicer than the one he had witnessed at the convenience store a few days ago, the cherry red which tinted his thoughts. The material of the container was smoother, sturdier and had intricate designs etched into it, all promising a much higher echelon of paint. He flipped it and peered at the label, unable to restrain a loud, shocked laugh from bubbling out of his mouth.

This particular bright color was labeled, quite coincidentally, 'Robin Red'.

It didn't take long to get dressed now, when his desperate focus on speed was lost. He held the bottle tight in his hand the entire time, breathing rapid due to excitement.  
Bruce was, as always, located downstairs in the process of multitasking at the Batcomputer, effectively finishing up his latest report while counting down each minute his charge was late. An equivalent punishment was slowly forming as the number grew larger. This time, Dick was very much unaware of his tardiness as he jogged down the stairs, all eyes on the present in his hand. During this process, he almost ran into Alfred on his way up the stairs, the man just avoiding a collision with the child as Dick charged down towards Bruce. A moment later, Dick started and returned to Alfred's side so they could descend together. He was scolded lightly for his carelessness, but he knew he could see an edge of a smile on Alfred's face. Dick’s smile was always more radiant, able to illuminate the entire cave, but Alfred’s was rare enough to be valued above jewels. No one really smiled in the Wayne household, not even the portraits on the walls. So Dick always took it upon himself to grin even brighter, even wider in face of the almost gloomy mansion, something that sometimes worked but also sometimes urged the loneliness to evolve harsher methods.

He told himself to ignore how much he missed his mother’s smile, missed the power of it when it shone so much brighter than even his did. She could’ve lit up the whole Manor.

Bruce turned in his chair to face him. The chair with that high back that Dick would sometimes perch on when his legal guardian was distracted and Alfred was out of sight. Although, the detective could never _really_ be distracted enough not to feel Dick’s skinny little shins against his back; it was simply a shared game of pretend. Bruce pretended that Dick wasn’t using the back of his chair like a Crow’s Nest and Dick pretended that the billionaire wasn’t leaning back against him (and that his toes weren’t falling asleep from improper circulation).

These were not the correct circumstances for such an encounter of denial however, as Bruce studied him with focused eyes. There was curiosity there, in the subtle curve of his brows. Like when he found a piece of evidence that didn’t quite follow his expectations, hypothesis effectively thrown. If Dick were to be honest, he rather liked it when he received looks such as this, always feeling three times smarter having stumped the Bat. Needless to say, he didn’t see it that often. In this circumstance, Bruce was currently wondering what the boy was doing down here in his exercise clothes, having not expected to see him for another hour. On the note he’d left in Dick’s room with the polish, he’d explained how practice was postponed while he attempted to give Dick a decent amount of time to appreciate his new gift.

The fact that he was showing up so early meant something had been miscalculated. In reality, that something was simply the unfortunate fact that the note of explanation had been cast to the floor in Dick’s room along with the bottle, having been lost due to its lack of flashiness.

Though with Dick’s current mission, it was quite likely that the outcome would be the same even if he had read the laconic note. It would have left him with little more than an ‘enjoy’ to understand the implications of a red container on his desk. So, leaving Alfred’s side, the kid approached Bruce and opened his palm to expose the object of his inquiries to his guardian, extending it out.

A familiar flash of doubt. Bruce felt the presence of a constant foe as he inspected the unopened gift that was being offered back to him. Just as the fight was a constant, so was the mask that hid it as blue eyes returned to his ward’s face. Had he interpreted the boy’s interest incorrectly, invested in something Dick had no investment in? He, of course, would take this information and correct himself, but it was just a bit embarrassing. Further proof that he had no idea what he was doing as a legal guardian, if the nightly child endangerment wasn’t proof enough.

It was hard to convince himself that Dick needed the bird when he was illuminated like this, flashing his smile to anyone who looked. Yet on that first day Dick had come into the Manor, there was that _anger_. It hadn’t faded away with time, simply hidden away behind a mask that was brighter than the Knight’s. A pair of wings were necessary to cover up the anger, as his own experience showed him.

But they weren’t needed in that moment, not even the bat was needed. It was, in fact, _Bruce_ that Dick reached out for. “I don’t know how to do it.” He announced, flashing a grin that edged with sheepishness. He was asking for help, something he hesitated to request as an inherited trait from his mentor.

It would have been rather unprofessional and uncharacteristic to say that Bruce showed surprise over this new information, but his expression showed the tell-tale signs for a just a second. His eyes widened, his brows rose, his lips parted. All movements were subtle enough an untrained eyes could have easily missed it, but Dick was trained from the man himself on how to identify microexpressions to better gauge any threats or lies. It was directly applicable outside of his costume (his teacher didn’t much appreciate that he could tell when she was serious about the subject matter and would put it on the test or not. He knew when to focus).

Bruce leaned back in his chair, eyes flicking to the only other inhabitant both in the room and the Manor as a whole. Alfred was busying himself with retrieving the lunch tray he had brought down a few hours ago, another game of make-believe starring a retired actor. He was pretending not to be fully aware of and interested in the conversation at hand.

"Perhaps Alfred could help you figure it out." Bruce offered, opening his palms upwards in the beginnings of a shrug. He was trying to flee from this request no matter how rare one was to come. He didn't want to disappoint the boy with the very blaring fact that he didn't have a damn clue how to do it either.

Alfred had always insisted that the master of the house face his duties head-on, only running when there was no other option, to face up to his responsibilities. He held the tray in his hands, walking back towards the steps upstairs. "Unfortunately, Master Bruce, I cannot. I must start meal preparations if you expect dinner at the usual time. I'm sure that you and Master Dick will appreciate a good meal after this activity."

Dick stepped closer to Bruce's space, his arm sticking out a little further in his insistence. "C'mon Bruce. The World's Greatest Detective _has_ to know how to do it."

Oh. So it was a game of pride then.

In the face of public opinion, a bat doesn't bother itself over whether society appreciates its presence or not. It simply does its duty and clears away the bugs from its territory. Yet, despite this temperament, in the face of this small boy, even a creature of the night might want to seem just a bit brighter under that gaze. The boy was no Kryptonian, but his eyes could scorch.

"Okay. Come here."

Dick was seated up on the control panel of the Batcomputer, isolated on an area where a bit of wiggling wouldn't cause a mountain of problems for them. Which was convenient as the boy couldn't seem to stay still. An impatient whine might not have been verbally exclaimed, but his movements and body language translated it quite clearly. He wiggled, his hands rested on his knees and his eyes wide and eager while he watched the blur of red in his guardian's shaking hand.

His gaze was distinctly hawk-like as Bruce unscrewed the cap of the bottle, unleashing the harsh smell of chemicals that triggered their hair cells unpleasantly. It _diffused_ around them (a vocabulary word from his current studies) and in a separate scenario, Dick might have wrinkled his nose against its potency. Now, however, he beamed at the scent and tried to squirm even closer so he could see the contents of the bottle without obstruction. A brush was connected to the lid, pulled up slowly and revealing the bright and shiny paint to flittering irises. It was dropped back in as Bruce carefully stirred the ruby mixture, deeming that the consistency was not yet proper despite his shaking.

"C'mon Bruce, it's not gonna turn to cement!" Dick protested his mentor's procrastination, pouting a bit as he almost scooted right off the panel. He was stopped by a hand on his knee and pushed back a few inches, which brought the pout on worse. His bottom lip jutted out almost comically.

Bruce couldn't remember ever being quite this difficult to satiate, but perhaps Alfred might have had something different to say.

"Sit still." It was a command, one Dick was beyond used to receiving. Maybe if they had been upstairs, the vaguely petulant boy might have continued his actions for a second or two longer just to prove that he was stopping because he wished to, but where they were now made the weight of orders much stronger. Instructions in the Cave prevented serious injury or accidents and even a harmless enough request like this had to be followed. If he didn't, he risked not being allowed downstairs at all. So, the boy stopped and sat straight, stilled for at least this moment.

If he was capable of it, Dick thought Bruce might've smiled in that moment, but it was too rare to be wasted on simple wiggling.

"Let me see your hand."

There was a conversation Dick had once at school with another boy who had asked what it was like to live with Bruce Wayne, since even the wealthiest parents couldn't quite live up to the fame of the Waynes. Dick had explained his guardian's behavior as best he could. _You know how old writers used to get paid for every word they wrote? I think Bruce gets paid_ not _to speak too much._ It would explain his limitless money.

Dick smirked at the memory and reached out his right hand, yet paused and then switched at the last second to offer up his left. It was for no real reason other than it was the more convenient arm and it displayed how fluttery and hyperactive he was in that moment. Bruce hesitated a moment in case he changed his mind again, let the much smaller hand rest atop his palm. He never really noticed unless they were compared closely like this, but Dick's skin was a few shades darker than his own.

For a second, Dick was going to crack a joke about Bruce's gigantic hand, but he stopped when the man held his fingers steady and pinched the open bottle steady in his grasp. The brush came out and with one careful swipe dragged across Dick's pointer fingernail, a giant glob settled unevenly along the surface in its wake.

Both men frowned. Too much.

Bruce reached for one of the towels brought down to the cave for their training session and wiped away the excessive amount of polish. Alfred might very well have a heart attack when he saw the state of the laundry, but neither were really focused on that fact as the mess was cleared away, allowing them to start over. Everything was a learning experience, especially failure.

The detective tried to keep this next attempt perfect; the bristles glided over such a small surface while the amount of polish used this time was not as overwhelming. Yet he still colored outside the lines and Dick's finger was partially painted a Robin Red color. Dick laughed as Bruce struggled to steady his motions further for the next nail. It was slow going, even the famous Son of Gotham was a slave to inexperience, no dark cape and pointed cowl could change that. He worked his way through the rest of his dependent's left hand, the towel gaining a few more impossible stains before the job was completed.

Dick's hand was returned to him and he lifted it up to a better angle for the light, the scarlet reflecting in his wide eyes. Before he could manipulate his arm to much in his utter awe, Bruce was quick to warn him that it would take some time to dry completely. His knowledge of chemicals was much more handy than knowledge of this particular practice. If he wasn't careful, he would ruin all the hard work he'd just done and that kept Dick in place, letting the decorated hand rest against his thigh.

Bruce didn't miss the way Dick's eyes stretched wide in amazement, didn't miss the brightness that came off of him in waves.

Dick's right hand went over more smoothly. Bruce was gradually getting the hang of it, his hand steadier as practice took its proper effect on him, yet he still had his mistakes. With the boy's finger grasped carefully to keep it as still as possible, the brush coated his nails with the bright red in a glossy protective coat. When it spilled over the side once again, reflexes honed over years of extensive and focused practice to make himself the best crime fighter he could be allowed him to catch the overflow with the thoroughly ruined towel before to reached the floor. Surely not the _intended_ use of his training, but effective nonetheless.

The futility of this action was still laughable, however. Robin Red Luxury Nail Polish would not be the first liquid to spread its scarlet stain across the leveled stone below them, wouldn't even be the first that week as Bruce still kept his arm bandaged beneath his suits.

Dick laughed good-naturedly as Bruce's lips tipped further down, aware now that in wiping away the excess, he'd swiped clean half of the rest of the nail as well, requiring a do over. They'd finish the entire bottle before completing the job at this rate. With practiced ease, Bruce ignored his charge's giggling and kept his focus on the three remaining nails.

He barely managed to finish as by the time he got to Dick's pinkie, the boy was practically _vibrating_ with excitement at being able to see the full effect of their-- of _Bruce's_ efforts. Another laconic command and the boy was stilled for perhaps a few more heartbeats. Enough to brush off the red and release the boy's hand.

Jumping down from the panel almost instantly, Dick had his hands out in front of him, the bright color they were now decorated with a beacon even in the dim underground. He radiated right back at them, just as vibrant. "Wow…!" He spun slowly, trying to find the best angle, wanting to see if he could turn them just as liquid as Selina's.

Bruce pushed himself up, an ache his knees that came from movement stalled for an extended period of time going ignored. His amusement was not hidden as it usually seemed to be, but displayed with a curve to his lips and a gleam in his eye as he watched his charge marvel so excitedly at his nails.

Dick Grayson would always be a circus boy. He really did love his flashy things.

"Alfred, _look_!"

The young bird flew off to show the new color to a freshly arrived butler, returned from his excuse. He displayed the back of his palms, exposing the Robin Red development and his smile stretched behind. In return, he was given a pleasant but mostly humoring response and a call for dinner. Dick was the first to charge up the steps, watching his fingers run over the guardrails, fulgent against the dull metal.

For a moment, while he was paused at the top of the stairs, waiting for the older men, he thought about Selina again and wished that she was there. Not a frequent thought, but his audience here was limited to two, both members who were more invested in his grin than what was causing it. They wanted to make him happy and didn't care about what color he was painted, or how cool it was (though a bit messy). He wanted to brag to the woman who had started this all and perhaps he'd also get a chance to later. Or perhaps he'd just be left to think about it the next time the Dynamic Duo was met with the Cat on a darkened Gotham roof, knowing what colors were there beneath clashing gloves.


End file.
